


The Dreaming Demon

by EntameWitchLulu



Series: The Lost Chapters of Arca [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Background Zarc/Ray, Child Abuse, Coma, Dreams, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntameWitchLulu/pseuds/EntameWitchLulu
Summary: They say the demon died that day, but he only fell asleep.





	1. ONE

It is quiet.  It has not been this quiet since before the birth of the world.

_ Hm. Not sure how I know that. _

There is peace, though.  Like a long, desperately desired sleep.  Ahh. This is what being able to breathe feels like.  Somehow, it feels like that was something....something forgotten.  Or something lost.

Though, it’s hard to know if there’s...anything else.  Sometimes, there's heat.  It disappears quickly, leaving the darkness hollow.  As though something once filled it all up, and in the absence of it, everything feels empty.  Wondering what happened to it, to the gnawing sense that something was being  _felt_. 

Not that it's possible to remember feeling, either.  There's something nostalgic about it, sometimes, the threads of emotion that sometimes waft through the silence, reminding the hollow space of the briefest taste of it.  The words are easy to remember, even in the dark: sadness.  Happiness.  Love.  Anger.  But what they  _mean_...it's too far away to grasp.  So it's easier not to try.  To just go back to sleep.

Sometimes, there’s a voice. It seems far away. But familiar.  Definitely familiar, even if why is indeterminable. Even if most of the time, it seems as though there is nothing to remember, except for the eternal darkness and silence of sleep.

But the voice is there.  Quiet. Distant. The sound is more recognizable than the words.  Just little snatches, here and there. Half a word. Part of a syllable.  Swallowed up, muffled by the eternal quiet, but still there. ...comforting.  It feels comforting, in a way that even the quiet does not — even though “comfort” is a word that seems undefined in the expanse of nothing surrounding everything.

Still.  It is as relaxing as the quiet is.  Some of the sounds are the same — the same faint words, spoken over and over, even though they are too far away to properly hear.  It feels...a little less lonely to hear them.

....lonely.  Another word that feels hard to understand, and yet...it is a part of the silence.

Lonely.  He is lonely.  He?  Who...who is he?

It’s hard to remember anything.  Sometimes it hurts.

So he does not.

The quiet is gentle.  It is home. And the voice...?  The voice is home, too. The words it repeats over and over, the ones that are more audible than others...they promise of a day when the loneliness ends.

And that’s enough.

Yes.  It is enough.

It is enough to sleep.

At least, until the dreams.


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey just a note that i changed some of the archive warnings so uhhhhhh just check those again to make sure you're still good before reading ;slajfdslafjas
> 
> nothing different from the original Demons, but I still thought I should give the heads up

“Hey!  Where are you going?”

Yuto looked down over his shoulder at the voice, hand hovering over the next branch he’d been reaching for.  Shun stood at the bottom of the tree with his hands cupped around his mouth. Ruri stood on her tiptoes, head craned back up towards where he perched.

“You’re so high up!!” she cried with delight.

Be careful, Yuto, you haven’t learned the tree spirits yet,” Shun called again.

Yuto just smiled, waving down at them.

“I’ll be right back!” he called down.  He turned his head back up towards the tree and reached for the next branch.

This was an easy tree to climb.  There were a lot of branches, and but they weren’t so close together that he couldn’t fit through them with his small body.  It wasn’t as hard as the sheer trees back in the village, which the elders could climb with ease, but Yuto and Ruri and Shun still needed to use the elevator for.  But one day, one day soon, he hoped, on one of his birthdays, a bird might fly in through his window and land near him. Might pluck a feather from its wing and lay it on his hand, leaving it behind for him to find when he awoke.  And then he’d finally be a man, having been chosen by the forest, and he’d be able to learn about the spirits of the trees, to learn their language and how to ask them for help. He was so excited — watching the older children and the adults climb trees without purchase, or disappear into thin air, or to watch them sit with their eyes closed against the base of a tree and simply listen to a song that Yuto could not hear...he wanted to finally be a part of it.

Yuto grabbed another branch, his hand landing in some sticky sap, but he didn’t pause to wipe it off.  If anything, it was nice to feel the tree leave its mark on him, like it was claiming him as its own. Like he belonged to it.  As though the spirit of the tree already trusted him enough to let him up into his branches. He whispered a thank you to the spirit inside, and hoped he didn’t just imagine the hum of pleasure from within it.

The leaves grew thicker and tighter as he got higher.  Almost there, though. He could hear the wind rustling free of the trees just above.

A moment later, he pushed his head through a copse of leaves, and out into the free, open air.  He inhaled like a stab to his lungs, eyes widening.

The sky was  _ endless _ .  He hooked his legs into the branch below him to steady himself while he twisted his head back and forth.  Clear, open blue sky spread in all directions, met by the thick canopy of leaves below it. It was like he sat in a sea of green, at least, it was what he imagined the sea must look like from the stories that Rio told him about it.  To one direction, misty imprints of huge shards of rock sprouted against the sky. They must be far, to be so faint, but they were taller than the trees — the mountains! They must be huge!

“Yuto!!  Come back down!”

Shun’s voice was so far away through the trees.  A breeze rustled Yuto’s hair, and he breathed deep.  He loved the woods more than anything — but to know that the sky was right here, so close, but never seen within Corkoro except in dappled patches, made him ache.

Up here, things felt somehow quieter.  Like the world was far away. And yet, he never felt lonely, even though he never climbed to this height with anyone else.  He almost felt like someone else was sitting here, next to him — or even in his own head, looking out through his own eyes. He would feel some strange hum of pleasure in his chest, something that wasn’t quite his own.  It was like someone else was seeing this beautiful sight with him, and they loved it. Yuto loved it, too — and he loved to share it with that quiet presence in his head, the one that he never really felt until he was here.

It was lovely, right? He thought to that warm presence.  To be up here, in the quiet, beneath an endless, free sky?

Sometimes, it felt like something agreed with him, with a settled sigh that he felt in his stomach, a tingle of delight in his fingers.

A bird fluttered past his face, and he stayed very still, so as not to startle it or himself and fall.  The little sparrow hovered before his eyes, as though staring right at him with its wings fluttering. Then it tapped him lightly on the forehead with its beak, and dove back beneath the leaves.  When he waited a moment longer, it zipped back up, looked at him, and went back down. Yuto smiled. Ruri was telling him to come back down, too.

Carefully, so as not to tangle his tiny limbs, he scrambled back down one branch at a time, ducking back beneath the cool, gentle canopy.

He released a little higher than maybe he should have, hearing Shun gasp before he landed lightly in the layer of leaves on the floor.  Yuto grinned at him.

“I’m getting better,” he said.  “I’m gonna learn the tree spirits before you do, Shun!”

Normally, this would get Shun to give him a little scoff, to fold his arms and roll his eyes, but with a smile.   _ No you won’t,  _ he’d say.   _ You’re way too little. _

But Shun looked...upset.  Yuto’s smile slipped. He frowned.  What was wrong? Why was Shun furrowing his brow like that?  Ruri looked between the both of them, sucking on the side of her finger.  When she reached for Shun’s hand, he took it back almost absently.

Finally, he nodded back towards the village.

“We need to go back,” he said.  “The ward says everyone needs to get in doors.”

“What?  Why?” Yuto said.

“I don’t know,” Shun said.  “I think someone heard someone else in the woods.  Really close.”

Yuto tensed in spite of himself.  Sometimes, people came into the woods, of course.  He’d met a couple of wandering bards and peddlers, who’d been allowed access after wandering lost in the woods for a few days.  But if the ward was telling everyone to get inside, that meant something could be really wrong. He took Shun’s other hand, and Shun squeezed it and Ruri’s as he started to lead them back through the woods, back to the village.

A chill breeze whispered between the trunks as they scrambled over roots and under low hanging branches.  A few leaves drifted down from below, in greenish golds and browns. Fall was on the way. It was almost time for them to start collecting for the winter, and insulating the houses.

The village appeared a few moments later, and Shun let go of Ruri and Yuto’s hands so he could trot over to the pulley, yanking on it to let the elevator back down.  The wooden crate lowered slowly from the trees while Yuto craned his neck back up towards the houses. He didn’t see any of the normal bustle of his fellow villagers up in the bridges and leaves.  Where was everyone? Was everyone really hiding inside? He didn’t even hear the boards creaking — even the sloths seemed to have been taken inside, and the squirrels were quiet.

The elevator came back down, and Shun bustled Yuto and Ruri inside it, yanking on the lever to send it back up in the same motion as he closed the gate.  It creaked and clattered as it wound back up into the trees, and besides the breeze, it was the only sound in the village. Yuto hadn’t been very nervous before, but now he was.  He grabbed for Shun’s hand again, and Shun held onto him tightly.

The minute they were on the landing, Shun pulled both Yuto and Ruri out of the elevator and around the first tree.  Yuto’s house was up another level, but Shun and Ruri’s was down here, near the ward’s house. Shun must have thought it was better to bring him over to their house rather that either send Yuto up by himself, or take more time escorting him up and then back down to their house.  Yuto didn’t mind. His mother would know he was with Shun’s family.

Shun froze, however, so quickly that Yuto and Ruri both yanked against the ends of his arm when he wouldn’t let them go.  Yuto turned to him, mouth open to ask. Shun shook his head sharply, though, eyes forward, and Yuto closed his mouth.

Once he’d taken a moment to listen, however, he knew why Shun had stopped. There were voices coming from the ward’s house.

“And I told  _ you _ ,  _ weeks _ ago, that you are not welcome here.”

Ryoga’s voice snapped like a hawk’s, and Yuto shuddered.  Ward Ryoga was scary when he was mad, and he sounded very,  _ very _ mad.  Who was he talking to?

“We ask for very little, Ward.  Just a chance to meet the children in the village.  I promise you no harm to your village, or them, if they should be interested in coming to the temple.”

Yuto didn’t know that voice, but he didn’t like it.  It sounded like the hiss of a fleshvine.

Shun’s hands tightened onto Yuto’s so hard that Yuto thought his fingers would break.  He looked down at Yuto and Ruri each in turn, fixing them with a stare that could only mean  _ be quiet _ .  Yuto nodded.  Ruri looked like she was about to cry, but she nodded too.

Carefully, Shun led them across the landing.  There was no way to get to Shun and Ruri’s house except to go in front of the ward’s open door.  Shun walked silently, not making a single sound against the boards. Yuto tried to match him, but he wasn’t as assured as Shun was.  His foot caught on a board and a creak rang out.

The voices inside the house paused.  The three of them froze.

Shun tightened his grip even more when footsteps sounded from inside the house.  Yuto relaxed only a fraction when Ward Ryoga was the one to appear the door. His sharp blue eyes cut over the three of them, lips curling back into a scowl.

“I called you all back a long time ago,” he said.  “Didn’t you hear the hawk?”

“I’m sorry,” Shun said stiffly.  “We had to find Yuto.”

Ryoga’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Yuto squirmed with guilt.  Ryoga would definitely be angry with him.

Surprisingly, though, Ryoga didn’t say anything.  He looked pale.

“Get to your house,” Ryoga said.  “Don’t dally. Don’t leave until I say so.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shun tugged on Yuto and Ruri, dragging them with their stumbling feet past the door.  Yuto didn’t mean to look, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes flickered up towards the door as they passed.  Ryoga covered most of it, but he could see just a bit around him — and inside was a man he’d definitely never seen before.  Taller than Ryoga, and broader, dressed in blood-red robes, he had a wide, pale face like a toad, slicked back greenish hair, and a pair of red glasses perched on his nose.

Yuto only saw him for a second.  And the man’s eyes only caught on him for a second.

But Yuto did see the smile spread over his toady face.  And he did feel the chill pass over him.

But then they were past, and they were hurrying along towards Shun and Ruri’s house, and Yuto tried not to think about it.  It had meant nothing. Right? Nothing at all.

* * *

Cool breezes.  A sea of leaves, waving and rippling up to the edge of the world, up to the stain of mountains on the sky.  An endless, beautiful sky.

This is a nice dream after all.

Sticky sap on his palms.  The twitter of a bird at his ear.  Something in his chest, something like...warmth.  The coil of...of a laugh? He remembers what it is like to laugh.  This is the kind of dream he’d like to have forever.

They’re only imprints, impressions, the hint of a memory — or perhaps of a reality?  But they’re soft. They’re enough. They’re almost enough to...to remember something.  To remember who he was. He doesn’t....remember who he was.

But sometimes, he feels like he could.  And like remembering might be all right, after all.

So he lets the coil of laughter settle in his chest, and drinks in the smell of pine and leaves, and relaxes.  Dreams like this make him feel as though perhaps he’s not alone after all.

_ This is nice, right? _

The voice isn’t his.  But it sounds like his, somehow.  It feels like a smile.

_ It’s amazing.  I missed this. _

He hadn’t even remembered that there was anything to miss.  But the dreams remind him that he does. He misses the breeze on his face, and the rustle of trees in the wind.  The dreams let him indulge, at least for a moment, before he returns to the quiet and darkness of nothing.

He inhales the sharp, cool breeze.

He smells smoke instead.

Somewhere, a scream coils from inside him.  Is it his? Is it the dreamer’s? Is it that presence, the one that asks him if he enjoys the breeze?

All he hears and feels now is the heat.  The crackle and scream of fire, the shriek of a tree as it falls with a crash, separating him from — from the hand he was just holding, he’s  _ there _ , he’s looking out eyes that aren’t his, but he remembers this smell, this panic, the sounds of screaming as people run from his rage —

They aren’t running from him.  He’s running with them. Screams and shrieks ring out from all sides of him, but he can’t see, he can’t breathe through the smoke.  Birds shriek and swirl wildly over his head as he crashes face first into the leaves, skidding. The trees — he can’t hear them, but he’s never been able to hear them, and they can’t help him, he’s not old enough to know how to ask the forest to hide him — 

“YUTO!”

The cry rings out over the smoke and the screams as people stumble around him, as shadows toss buckets of dirt on the flames, as steel whistles through the air and clangs against metal, as a rain of arrows cascades between the trees.

He curls himself into a ball beneath a coil of roots, trying to catch his breath — h-he doesn’t know where Shun and Ruri went, when that tree fell, he lost his grip on Shun’s hand, he doesn’t know where his mother is, or anyone — 

Someone is standing over him.

“There you are,” a voice says with a mirth that doesn’t match the scream of flames.  “I almost thought that you’d be burnt up with the rest of this trash. Seems I shouldn’t have worried.”

He scrambles to his feet, panic tightening his chest.  The man looms over him, a hand reaching for his throat.

An arrow strikes the man in the head, and he goes down.  A hand grabs hold of his arm.

“Quickly!” the man shouts into his ear.  “They’re here for you! We need to get you to safety!”

“R-Ryoga,” he gasps.  “W-what?”

“Run, Yuto!  Run!”

Yuto?  He...is he dreaming of being this Yuto?  Is this panic his, or is it the boy’s who’s eyes he stares out of?

Another tree creaks overhead.  His vision snaps up. A scream coils in his throat.  

The man dragging him sees it too.  With a snarl of frustration, he grabs the boy by the back of his shirt, and flings him.

He goes down, hitting the forest floor and rolling, bumping over roots.  Behind him, something crashes. Fire explodes all around him. He screams.

“Zarc?  Zarc, baby, it’s okay, I’m here, breathe — ”

That voice doesn’t belong to this scene, but he hears it anyway.  He feels, suddenly, two bodies — one, heavy and useless, trying desperately to flail, a mouth that doesn’t work that tries tos cream.   One, small and battered, trying to push itself up against the burning, smoking forest, as eyes look up to see the fallen tree.

The fallen tree and the arm that is all that is visible sticking out beneath it.

“Zarc!  Zarc, you’re going to hurt yourself!!  Zarc, please, baby, lay down — ”

T-the boy — the boy is getting taken away — he doesn’t feel him anymore, but he can hear the screaming in his head as the red-robed people snatch him beneath the shoulders and drag him screaming away from the dead man, the one that had saved his life only to throw him to the ones here for him.

He — he needs to do something — the flames are too high, the boy can’t do anything, he’s too small — 

He screams.  This one, however, is only his own.

Because all at once, he remembers other flames.  And he chokes on them.


	3. THREE

“Yeah, just like that.  That’s perfect, Yugo!”

Yugo beamed.  His hand was a little shaky, but he held the stub of a pencil as firmly as he could, the way that Rin had showed him.  She had a book balanced on her knees, crunched into the lower bunk of Yugo’s bed with the sheets from the bed above pulled down to hide them from sight.  The other kids were asleep, and the room was full of nothing but the quiet sounds of soft breaths and the occasional hitch and moan of a bad dream.

Rin held up the little oil lamp over Yugo with her hand cupped over it so that it wouldn’t show through the sheets if the Brothers came in to check on them.  Yugo stuck his tongue out and carefully traced the same shapes that Rin had written in her own shaky hand on the back cover of the old book.

“There!” he said triumphantly.  “I did it!”

He quickly clapped a hand over his mouth — the sound had come out just a little too loudly.  Rin, however, didn’t scold him like usual. In the thin light of the oil lamp, her eyes looked big and sparkly.

“You’re getting really good, Yugo!” she said, her own voice low.  “Great job.”

Yugo felt like he was glowing brighter than the oil lamp.  He looked over the characters he’d written, touching them lightly with one finger, careful not to smudge it.

“How do you read this one again?” he said.

“ _Go_ ,” Rin pronounced.  “It’s the last sound of your name.  See? Yu - Go.”

She pointed to each character one at a time.  Yugo tapped each one at the same time too, making his lips move to the shape of the sounds.  He smiled huge.

“Now that I can write my name, I can work, right?” Yugo said excitedly.

“You can sign a contract, but you need to be able to read what it says too,” Rin said.  “Don’t worry, Yugo, by the time we’re old enough to age out, you’ll be a great writer _and_ reader.”

Yugo beamed even more at her praise, wiggling a little bit and making the bed shake.  The boy in the bunk over head let out a heavy sigh in his sleep, and Yugo froze. Rin’s eyes shot up over their heads too, and for a moment, they held their breath.  The boy rolled over, and then his breaths slowed. The two let out a low sigh of relief.

“Rin?” Yugo whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Will you read a little more tonight?”

Rin bit her lip.  She sneaked a glance at the oil lamp in her hands, and Yugo looked too.  There wasn’t much oil left, maybe enough for another hour. It was anybody’s guess how long it might take them to find some more, not to mention matches.  There was only so much they could sneak out of the junkyard in their pockets without it getting confiscated as proof of their work for the day. Getting the oil lamp itself had been really hard.

“Okay,” Rin said, though.  “But just a little bit more.”

She scootched over as Yugo scrambled up to his knees and crawled over beside her, dragging his knees up to his chest.  He took the oil lamp and held it carefully while Rin spread the book out on her lap. There weren’t any pictures on this page, and the print was really small, enough to make Yugo’s eyes spin.  Rin squinted down at it and laid her finger at the start of a sentence.

“W...when...when mill...milling b-...bewel...bevel! When milling bevel gears with a...a...rot...rotary formed cutter, it is...necess....necessa...necessary...”

Rin stumbled over the words a lot, squinting and sounding them out a bit at a time, and Yugo didn’t even really understand most of this book — Rin said it was a book about machines, which would be really good for them to learn from once they could both read.  But mostly, Yugo just loved listening to her voice. He loved watching the look in her eyes as she figured out each word, he loved seeing her finger point to the squiggles on the page and translate sounds and meaning out of them. It was like magic.

He rested his head on his hand, holding lamp up so that Rin could see, and settled in to listen to her soft, deliberate voice talk about gears.  Someday, he thought, someday he’d be able to read the words too, and then he could read to Rin. And someday, they’d be old enough to leave the orphanage as adults, and they could walk out into the city and see all of the wonderous, beautiful machines and buildings in the world, and thanks to Rin, they’d be smart enough to be a part of that world.  They’d go to work together, and find a little apartment together, and they’d always be together.

“Together forever?” Yugo whispered to her.

She fell silent.  The oil was getting low.  After a beat, she reached over and pinched the flame out, sending them into the darkness.  She tugged the lamp lightly from his hands, and he heard her set it down underneath the bed with the book.  She shifted back towards him, and in the dark, her tiny hands fit perfectly into his.

“Together forever,” she agreed.

* * *

The sharp, tangy scent in the air is unfamiliar, and somehow, it’s exciting.  A light ache of interest passes through his head — does he....does he remember something?  What is this feeling in his chest? His comforting darkness is gone once again in the wake of the dream, but the smell, a mix of dust and something he’s never smelled before, piques his...his curiosity.  That’s what this feeling is — curiosity.

Curiosity feels wonderful.  More than even the peace of the darkness and nothing, curiosity feels like a fire in his chest, a burning _excitement_.  He wants to know what is making the smell.

He feels sharp edges poking into his hands, and swears, sticking his finger into his mouth.  Beside him, the pile shifts, as the girl digs through it as well. It’s warm and hot and what is all of this?  Piles and piles of junk...his gaze lifts up and he sees the pile looming over him like a mountain.

He can’t help it — the curiosity overwhelms him.  What is all of this? Where did it come from? He can’t remember wanting to know something so badly before — and yet, he does remember.  He remembers the fiery excitement that came with something new, something he’d never experienced before, and he...he wants to go back to that.

When was that?  Who was he then, when he felt things like that?

And...and who is he right now?

“Yugo, are you spacing out again?”

“Sorry!”

The voice feels like it tumbles out of his own lips, but he’s sure he hasn’t spoken himself.  A dream. This must be a dream.

Oh, he wants to savor it, though.  The feeling of the cold metal things that turn up in his hands, and the sharp, electrical scent in the air.  He wants to savor the sense of his tiny hands (are his hands tiny? Something about feels off) prying off a sheet of metal from a strange box, and picking at the inside with his dirty nails.  His muscles ache, but it’s a good, hard-working sort of ache that he can’t remember the last time he felt.

Oh...for the first time in a long time, he wants to wake up.  He wants to open his eyes, and find that this is the world he lives in — he doesn’t want to go back to the darkness and nothing.

“Yugo.  Yugo!”

“Huh, what?”

“Brother Merit is calling your name!! Didn’t you hear him, dummy?”

His gaze shifts down to the bottom of the pile, to an old, old man standing at the bottom of it, his wrinkled skin hanging as loosely from his bones as the gray cotton robes hang from his shoulders.

“What do you think he wants?”

“I don’t know, but you’d better go and talk to him.  If he asks you about the books or the lamp, you don’t know anything, remember!”

“I won’t tell, Rin, I promise!”

He clambers down the side of the junk, metal clattering down at his movement and rolling to the base like stones on a mountain.  He’s sad to leave behind the fascinating pile of old, new things. The dream tugs him along. He has no choice but to follow it.

He doesn’t know how he ends up in the next room, tiny, dark, claustrophobic, crunched up against the tiny desk that takes up half of it.  

He doesn’t like it here.  Something makes him want to scream.  He doesn’t want to be in this dream anymore.

“What’s going on?”

The man on the other side of the table looks at the man standing next to him.  He is tall, with a wide, flat face like a frog. He wears bright red robes that look like blood in the dim room.

His smile is not a good one.

He wants to wake up from this dream.

“Yugo, this man has expressed interest in adopting you.”

Panic.  A wild, screaming thing that catches between his ears and makes him want to scream.

“What?”

“Are you deaf, boy?  I said you’re going to be adopted!”

“I — no, wait, I can’t.”

“You can’t?  I told you the boy is empty-headed.”

The man in the red robes only chuckles.

“That’s all right,” he says.  “He doesn’t need to have much.”

He finds himself crunching back against the door, his eyes wide, his throat dry, and oh, fuck, he knows this feeling, he knows this feeling all too well — claustrophobia, trapped under the eyes of someone who doesn’t care about him and who won’t let him escape —

Who’s screaming?  Him or the boy he dreams of?  Both of them?

“Zarc, Zarc, Zarc, honey, it’s just a bad dream, it’s only a bad dream —”

No, it’s not, it’s not just a dream, he’s getting dragged away, there’s a hand over his mouth to stop his incessant screaming, but he has to scream, he has to yell, he has to tell her!  He has to tell her that they’re taking him away! He promised — _they promised_ —

No, no, no, don’t let them take him away, don’t let them take him!   _Please please please don’t hurt me anymore I’m so sorry please I’m begging you please let me go please don’t hurt me I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry —_

“Zarc!  Zarc, oh fuck, it’s all right, it’s all right, I’m here, oh fuck, please, you’re going to hurt yourself — ah!”

The voice — he doesn’t know where the voice is coming from, but he can feel hands against his forehead, and suddenly there’s pain pain pain but it’s not the dream it’s not the dream it’s a different one he doesn’t remember where he is, all he can think of is the unending scream in his head, the one he wants to release but can’t, he needs to scream so that she — so that she’ll hear —

So that who will hear?

Who...

Who is he forgetting?

Who did....who did he leave behind?

He can’t remember

He can only scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out; I kind of lost the thread of this story for a bit....as well as the threads of kind of ALL of my writing;;;;;; I'm hopefully back on track, so I hope you'll continue to enjoy. The next chapter should be out on it's usual Friday update next week.


	4. FOUR

Yuuri’s ribs ached.  Breathing sent a rattle of pain down his spine with every inhale, but it wasn’t like he could stop breathing.  

But it was quiet.  He was finally alone.  He didn’t open his eyes, focusing on his breaths.  When his eyes were closed, he could pretend like he didn’t exist.  Like the world outside wasn’t real, and that he was only a speck in an infinite void, where there was no pain, no screaming priests, no blades drawing symbols in his skin, no pang of hunger in his stomach.  Here, he was blissfully, beautifully alone. He did not exist.

“Yuuri?”

The voice was so quiet that it seemed a part of the imaginary nothingness that Yuuri had conjured up around himself.  Reluctantly, however, he peeled his eyes open. One of them only opened halfway. Stupid priest, hitting him in the face.  They weren’t supposed to do that.

Dennis hovered near the closed door, hands behind him.  He looked paler than normal, his scruffy hair mussed more than usual.  Yuuri didn’t bother sitting up.

“I’m alive.”

He hated the way his voice cracked despite his attempt to sound like he didn’t really care.  He also hated the way that Dennis’s lips tightened, and his eyes glazed with tears for a moment.  But he blinked them away. He smiled.

“That’s good.”

The smile didn’t reach his eyes.  It rarely did. Yuuri had only seen him smile for real maybe once.

Dennis crossed the room to where Yuuri laid on the floor.  At least, Yuuri, thought, the carpet was a nice change from the usual cold stone floor of his hole.  Dennis crouched down beside him, biting his lip.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Yuuri said, as fiercely as he could manage.

He hated it.  That look of pity.  Dennis did as he was told, smoothing the pity out of his eyes and only smiling.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said.  “Can you sit up?”

Yuuri inhaled, trying to pretend that the pain in his ribs didn’t exist.  He pushed himself up onto his hands all at once, sucking in a breath at the pain, but otherwise refusing to let himself tremble.  The chain around his ankle rattled as he pulled himself up to his knees, breathing. The carpet was soft, but it still left imprints on his hands and face.  The remains of a fire glowed in the mantle, lighting the room with just the edge of the ember’s glow. It was warm. That was a nice change from his cell, too.

Dennis produced a small roll of bread and a cup of water from a tray, putting it down between them.  He reached inside his jacket then and pulled out a small hunk of cheese too, putting it down by the bread.  Yuuri eyed it suspiciously, glancing up at Dennis.

Dennis only smiled back at him.  Yuuri knew he wouldn’t get an answer for where Dennis had gotten that.  So he didn’t bother asking. The evidence would disappear in a moment, anyway.

Yuuri waited, staring at Dennis for as long as his aching stomach would allow.  After a beat, Dennis finally looked away. Yuuri grabbed the whole piece of cheese and shoved it into his mouth all at once.  Dennis didn’t watch him as he tore into the bread next, and drank the pitiful cup of water. Yuuri sat forward, hugging his stomach as it continued to ache, gasping for air.  It was never enough.

Dennis’s eyes turned back to Yuuri, but Yuuri didn’t look back up at him.  He knew that Dennis wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings for a moment, and Yuuri didn’t want to see it.

“Well?  What do the priests want from me today?” he finally asked, trying to sit up straight, like the prince he was supposed to pretend to be.

Dennis gathered up the tray under his arm, but he didn’t stand up right away.  

“The search party got back yesterday,” he said, flatly.  

Yuuri tensed.  He waited. Finally, Dennis shook his head.

A strange mixture of relief and terror struck through Yuuri’s chest, and he tried to breathe around it.  He’d been off. His guess on where one of the other ones were had been off.

“They’re coming back up?” he said.

Dennis nodded, looking white.  His eyes flickered to Yuuri’s chain, and then back over his shoulder.  Yuuri snatched him by the elbow, squeezing as tightly as his small, frail fingers would allow, making Dennis look back at him.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed.  “Not again.”

Dennis’s cheeks turned white, and he dropped Yuuri’s gaze.  Yuuri’s back ached with the ghost memories of a pain from months ago, and he saw Dennis’s back flinch too, as though his mind had gone to the same place.  Yuuri released him, having contented himself that Dennis wasn’t going to ever try anything stupid again.

“Don’t you ever dare do anything that would make you disappear,” he said. 

Dennis’s smile was wry this time.

“Is that an order, prince?”

“It is.”

For just a moment, Yuuri found it in him to smirk, folding his arms and sitting up straight.  Pain wracked through his ribs again, though, and he coughed, doubling over. Dennis had a hand on his shoulder before Yuuri could tell him not to.  He gripped Yuuri by both shoulders, supporting him as cough after cough rolled out of him, bile and his meager meal nearly rising out of his throat.  Dennis moved his hands to Yuuri’s back, rubbing softly without a sound. Yuuri’s eyes blurred out with the tears of his fit, and despite wanting to scream and shout that he didn’t need this, he didn’t need Dennis to hold him — 

He didn’t say anything at all.  He only slid his arms around Dennis and clung on for dear life, lest the tears he promised he would never cry began to fall.  He didn’t think about the priests who would be coming up the stairs in just a moment, who would rip him out of Dennis’s arms and scream at the both of them, who would throw Dennis outside to beat him for comforting Yuuri, who would throw Yuuri against the ground and kick him in his already bruised ribs for failing to locate the right place of the other demon soul fragments.

He closed his eyes, and let the warmth tighten around him, and simply pretended, once again, that he did not exist.

* * *

Not all of the dreams start with peace.  Some begin right in the middle of the pain.

His ribs ache and his body screams with the ghostly pains of some distant, screaming voice.  Is it his? Is it someone else’s? He can’t decide, can’t separate the two.

He remembers fire.  The fire of torches shoved into his face, so close that he could feel their heat singing his skin.  He remembers blades — the curved, dark metals plunged right into his heart and twisted.

He remembers begging for it to stop.  To kill him. He remembers begging and crying so loudly that his mouth was stuffed to muffle it out.  

But no matter how deep the blade reached, he simply stayed.  He never stopped existing. His body would not release him.

He is so tiny, looking out of these eyes — are they his?  He doesn’t remember ever being this tiny, this low to the ground compared to the figures standing over him.  He feels himself bite down on his tongue when a boot collides with his chest.

“You were  _ wrong _ . We wasted time, you maggot!”

Another kick that makes his heart bounce against his back and his whole body crumple.  He cries out in spite of himself.

“It’s in...it’s in that village, I know it is, or one near it, it’s  _ there _ , I’m not lying!”

His voice comes out thin and broken.  Spirit flares inside him, and then dies again at the next blow.  Hands curl into his hair and he’s dragged from the floor, yanked against the chain about his ankle, his head forced over the table before him with the map spread out across it.  He screams in spite of himself, struggles and fights, and his head is slammed against the table in retribution. Lights flare in his eyes. He chokes on his air.

For one, brilliant moment, he  _ remembers _ who he is.

For one burning, soul screaming moment, his name is on his tongue — and the rage fills him.

How dare they — how  _ dare _ they treat him like this!  How dare they raise their hands against him!  He’ll  _ ruin _ them — he’ll kill every last one of them — 

_ “I’LL KILL YOU I’LL KILL YOU DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH ME —” _

A blade cuts into his arm.  His arm, the child’s arm, he doesn’t know, he’s been knocked back to himself, distant and detached, and the memories have fled once again.  Along with them goes the rage — replaced only by the pain, and the terror.

“S-stop, please, I promise, he’s  _ there _ , it’s right  _ here _ , you just have to look, I’m not lying, they’re — stop!!!  Stop, I’m not lying!! The fragment is there!!”

He can’t feel the connection anymore.  He can only hear the screaming. He can taste blood on his tongue, bile.  The fear courses through him. He’s on a table again, strapped down with chains that burn his skin, a blade plunging into his heart over and over and over again and  _ why can’t he just die and make it  _ stop — 

“Zarc, Zarc, Zarc, oh  _ fuck _ , fuck fuck fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t hold onto you well enough, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, you just fell off the bed, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here —”

The boy screams in his head with a pain he never should have had to feel.

He can’t breathe.  He can’t speak. He wants to scream.  Wants to tell the voice above him that — that the memories terrify him, that he doesn’t remember where they come from, but he’s  _ scared _ , he’s so scared, it hurts so much, but it’s not that that hurts the most — it’s the screams, it’s the awful screams in his head, the ones that aren’t his, the ones he...needs to...

The darkness drags him down.  No...no, he needs to stay awake, this time, he needs to stay awake, because...if not for himself, for...for them...he needs to...he needs to...remember...

He needs to remember who he is.  He  _ needs _ ...

But the darkness is stronger than him.  He fades, fighting, slowing, down into the darkness of nonexistence once again.


	5. FIVE

He stretched, stretched, stretched upwards, waving his hands back and forth, wobbling on his tiptoes, but his fingers only brushed the very bottom of the apple, and even when he jumped, he couldn’t quite get his fingers around it hard enough to yank it off.  Just a  _ little _ closer — 

Yuya yelped as an arm wrapped around his waist, hoisting him upwards and perching him on a sturdy shoulder.  He looked down. Gongenzaka huffed at him.

“Don’t just sit there,” he said.  “Pick it if you’re going to pick it.”

Yuya grinned, and turned around to grab the now well within reach apple.  He snapped it from the branch, and Gongenzaka swept him back to the ground.

“Thanks!!” Yuya said, dropping the apple into the bin.  “When’d you get here, Gongenzaka?”

Gongenzaka folded his arms, not out of any gruffness, but just because that was Gongenzaka’s default stance.

“Your mother told me you were working,” he said, his voice gruff even for a boy of ten years.  “Have you forgotten that we were going to release our guyutami today?”

Yuya’s eyes widened.  

“Oh no, that’s today??” he said, looking up towards the height of the sun.  “Why didn’t you remind me yesterday!!”

“Because you’ve been talking of nothing else all week,” Gongenzaka huffed.  “I would think you’d remember.”

“The apples are ripe this week!!  You know I forget everything when the apples are ripe!! Quick, help me get the rest of these so we can get to the river!!”

He made a leap for another apple, and Gongenzaka rolled his eyes.  He reached way over Yuya’s head, however, snapping off the apples easily.  Yuya had to clamber into the tree to reach some of them, coming back down with an armful to dump into the bin.  It was almost overflowing once they’d finished, and Yuya couldn’t pick it up. He oofed and urrghed, trying to get his legs to lift as he gripped it, before Gongenzaka finally sighed and lifted the whole thing with one arm.  Yuya beamed at him.

“Thanks, Gongenzaka!” he said.  “Come on, if we hurry, we’ll be there before bell!”

Gongenzaka rolled his eyes once again, but a faint smile lifted to his lips before Yuya took off.  He scampered down the thin dirt path from the orchard back to town, to his own little house at the very end.  As they crested the hill, he saw the thatched roof and the smoke floating gently from the chimney which meant that his father was probably working right now.  Briefly, he wondered what amazing machine he might be making this time — then he remembered that he and Gongenzaka had to make it to the river in time, and that if he let himself get distracted by his father’s machines, they’d certainly miss the right timing for guyutami.

He checked to make sure Gongenzaka was still with him — he kept pace easily despite his burden — and then scampered down the hill to his back door.  It hung slightly open; he must have forgotten to close it before he left for the orchard. He grabbed it, sucking in a breath to shout and tell his parents that they were leaving the apples and going to the river.

His words stuck in his throat, however, when he heard his mother swear from the kitchen.  He jumped. Had she cut herself?? He stepped half inside, and then heard his father’s low voice, too soft for him to make out anything other than the soothing tone.

“But what do they want with  _ him _ ?  I don’t understand.”

“Yoko, you know how dangerous they can be.  The stories. We might need to consider leaving.”

“I’ll be damned before I let those bastards drive us out of  _ our _ home.  The next time I see that man’s frog face, I’ll stab him.”

“Zarkania gets closer every day, Yoko, we can’t put our neighbors in danger by making rash actions like that.  If they declare war on Iwamaki, you know the clans will never be able to unite for long enough to defend anyone.”

Yuya’s heart hammered in his ears.  What were his parents  _ talking _ about?  He didn’t understand most of it, but mom sounded so tense, so angry.  Before he could think better of it, he slipped all the way inside to the back room, and tip toed to the door to the kitchen.  His parents stood near the counter, their shoulders hunched near each other. They still spoke softly, as though someone might be listening.  Were they trying to hide something from  _ him _ ?  Or was someone here?  Yuya glanced around their small house from his position.  It looked empty, though he couldn’t see the bedroom or the workshop, or all of the living room from here.  But there was no one on the couch. There was a weird looking golden fabric draped over the back of the couch that he knew wasn’t theirs.  Had someone come to visit?

His father noticed him first, and as mom opened her mouth again, he put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up.  Her tense expression immediately melted and she smiled.

“Hey, kiddo, you’re back already?” she said.  “Find a lot of apples yet?”

He wanted to ask.  He wanted to know what they were talking about.  Were they saying they were going to leave? He didn’t want to leave Hellebore.  He loved his little town, and his friends, and their house, and the river, and the apple trees, and the berry fields, and the flowers.

But his mom was smiling like she always did, and he knew she didn’t want to talk about it.  So he smiled, bright and cheerful, the smile that his parents always complimented him on, to make them happy from whatever was making them sad.

“Yeah!” he said.  “I think we can harvest the rest of the trees by the end of the week.”

“That’s great to hear,” dad said, smiling at him, his eyes crinkling.  “I’m making another dragon today. Did you want to watch?”

Yuya almost blurted yes, but he heard the creak of the door and remembered Gongenzaka.

“Not yet!  Gongenzaka and I are going to release guyutami.”

“Oh, you’d better hurry,” mom said, glancing up at the clock on the wall.  “The sun’s almost right over head.”

“I know!! We’re taking a couple apples with us but the rest are back here!”

He began to turn, but his mother pushed off from the counter and walked towards him.  He hesitated, just long enough for her to scoop him up in her arms. She squeezed him so tightly that he almost choked, and he gagged melodramatically as he flopped backwards.

“All right, you little joker,” she said with a laugh.  But she didn’t let go. Yuya stopped flopping, feeling uncertain.  Was...everything okay?

Carefully, he wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist.  His arms were only barely long enough to touch the tips of his fingers around her yet.  She smelled like firewood from the forges, and her fingers were gentle in his hair despite the calluses that covered her hands.

“Um, mom,” he mumbled.  “Gongenzaka and I are gonna be late?”

She breathed out into his hair.

“All right, you two be careful near the water,” she said, finally releasing him and ruffling his hair.  “Make a good wish.”

“We will!”

It really seemed for a moment like she wasn’t going to let him go.  But she did, and he hopped back to where Gongenzaka waited at the door.  They pulled the bin inside, grabbed an apple off the top of the pile each, and then made their way around the house.

The sun shone in Yuya’s eyes as they moved out onto the main street, and he shaded his eyes with one hand.  He heard a dog barking somewhere down the lane, and children yelling. The kids in question bolted across the dirt road from one house to another, yelling and laughing as they threw a ball back and forth between them.  The baker’s husband was out hanging clothes on the line, and a trio of women with baskets clustered near a rose bush, laughing as they chattered. Yuya inhaled, breathing in the soft scent of the flowers growing in front of the houses, their blossoms bouncing in the wind.

“They’re blooming really nice this year,” Yuya said.  “Maybe we should pick some to bring home afterward!”

“Maybe,” Gongenzaka agreed.

The apple was cool in Yuya’s palm, and he kind of wanted to take a bite out of it.  He should have grabbed two — one for a snack, and one for guyutami. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast at dawn before going out for apples.

The houses got a little thicker together as they reached the village center, and the clamor of distant voices, carts rolling about the dirt square, people chattering at the well, the clang of the blacksmith’s forge, it all ran together in a light, pleasing sound like a song.  Yuya waved to a few people who called his name, and Gongenzaka waved at a few who called his. The houses and buildings all drifted farther apart, then, as they reached the end of the main road and came up to the bridge.

The bridge wasn’t much to look at, but Yuya loved it.  He’d spent hours on this bridge, throwing rocks into the water, peeking through the old wooden slats to look at water moccasins slithering through the river, marching up and down the planks to count each one and note which ones looked like they might collapse.  The vines curling up the side were dotted with small, puffy white flowers now, and he gasped, running over to look. Gongenzaka snatched him by the collar, though.

“The sun is overhead,” he said.  “If we’re going to do this today, we have to do it now.”

Yuya blushed.  He glanced up to check the sun, almost blinding himself, and then looked down at his own feet while he held his arms to his sides.  Sure enough, his shadow was all but gone. The sun was directly overhead. On the other side of the bank, he saw a couple other kids he knew, already working at carving their wishes into whatever offering they’d brought with them.

Gongenzaka settled down to the river bank with his apple, pulling out his little knife from his belt.  Yuya didn’t have a knife, but he did have a whittling awl he’d borrowed from his dad a while ago, so he plopped down next to Gongenzaka and tapped it against his lips, considering his apple.  

Gongenzaka was already carving into his, and Yuya sneaked a glance.  He had definitely guessed what Gongenzaka was going to write — the character for prosperity.  It was the same guyutami wish he made every year, for his father’s shop to grow even more successful.  Yuya made a lot of wishes, though, cause he had so many things he wanted to wish for! When he was five, he’d wished for a dragon.  That obviously hadn’t happened. But when he was seven, he’d wished for the traveling entertainers’ caravan to pass through their town again that year, and they had!  So you had to be really careful with wishes. 

He hummed, looking up into the sky.  What did he wish for?

_ Make a good wish _ , mom had said.  Yuya bit his lip.  What were mom and dad so worried about?  He looked down at his apple. Then, carefully he started to carve a character into the apple’s skin.

“Are you ready?” Gongenzaka asked.

Yuya finished etching the last bit of the character.  He bit his lip and looked at it. Not the best writing ever, but hopefully the river gods would understand what he meant.  Gongenzaka leaned over to look.

“‘Peace’?” he said, blinking.  “What do you need to wish for peace, for?”

“No reason,” Yuya said defensively.  “What? Is there something wrong with my wish?”

Gongenzaka chuckled.

“No,” he said.  “It’s just a very grown up wish for you.  I thought you might try for a dragon again.”

Yuya stuck his tongue out at Gongenzaka, and Gongenzaka chuckled.  He stood, and Yuya stood too. On the other side of the river, the other kids with their offerings and wishes moved towards the river at the same time.  

“Do you remember the prayer?” Yuya said.  “I always forget.”

Gongenzaka rolled his eyes, but he smiled.  He leaned down to hold his apple into the water, and Yuya copied him.

“We thank you, breath of the land, breath of the water, breath of the sky, for blessing us with harvest and prosperity.”

Yuya stumbled over the words, copying what Gongenzaka said.  He heard the stumbled, tumbling words of the others on the other side also speaking the words.

“Take the first fruits of our harvest, so that it may be once again returned to us, and then to you, in the cycle of giving and receiving.”

Gongenzaka released his apple, and Yuya released his.  The apples bobbed along with the river’s current, floating down under the bridge, and towards the faraway winding of the river into the distance.  Yuya watched it go, keeping his eyes on his apple until he couldn’t see it anymore. The sun glittered over the water like diamonds, and he looked away, rubbing at his eyes.

“Where does the river go, Gongenzaka?” he said.

“Hm?  It goes to the lake in the east.”

“And where does it go after that?”

Gongenzaka scratched his head.

“I don’t know.  The mountains?”

Yuya had never seen a mountain before.  He’d never seen a lake before, either. He could only imagine them from stories.

“The world is really big, isn’t it?” Yuya said.

“It is,” Gongenzaka agreed.

A breeze rustled Yuya’s hair, and he looked up at the sky once again.  He wondered, for a moment, if his village’s stories were true. Were there really gods in everything?  Did the sky have a god? The river? The grass? The apples? Were they really watching over them, giving them good harvests, accepting their wishes?  Was there a god in the lake who would scoop up their offerings and their wishes, and somehow send them back to them? It all seemed so mysterious, so far away.

“Are gods real, Gongenzaka?” Yuya asked.

Gongenzaka always seemed to know everything.  At least, he was good at coming up with answers that made sense.  So when he didn’t answer, Yuya looked up at him. Was that a bad question?  

Gongenzaka was looking up into the sky too.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.  “Maybe we’ll learn one day.”

Yuya blinked.  He looked up into the wide, endless sky.  Then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Maybe we will.

* * *

He dreams of warmth, and knows immediately this time that the dream is not his.  Because there is no world, no life in which he has known this warmth, the warmth of a mother’s arms around him, of a father’s soft hand on his hair, of the smile of a parent who is proud of him.  He has never known the love of a parent, because he was born without one.

But he has known love.

And he finally remembers it.

Pain wracks through him at the flames that consume the house, at the screams that rip out of his — out of the boy’s — throat.  He screams, too, flails his arms, tries to escape the prison that his body has become. He is — he is awake. He is awake, but he can’t be, it’s only the screaming, the screaming of a piece of his soul that has struck through to what remains of his empty shell, throwing him to the floor in a tangle of limbs and shrieks.

He feels the hands, this time, the hands on his empty body rather than the ones that pin him to the floor of a wagon.  He feels her hands, soft and gentle, running through his hair, stroking his cheek, her voice whispering soothing things he cannot hear over the shouts and screams of his other body, of the owner of his other soul, as the small vessel — the  _ child _ — is pinned down to a wagon’s floor and bound at the wrists, mouth stuffed to stop him from screaming.

He has to help.  He has to stop this.

He can’t stop this.

He is only an observer.  Only a dreamer. And he can’t scream loud enough for her to understand what is happening to the pieces of him — to the souls who were forced to bear his burden.

In the torment of the flames that consume his — the boy’s — home, he remembers.  He remembers it all — the fear, the pain, the humans that turned on him, the humans who loved him, the destruction.  Death.

And he cries.  The tears roll down his cheeks as he screams and screams, wishing that he could make the screams into words, words that might be able to save him, to save them, to take back what he thrust upon them,  _ don’t make them hold this burden, don’t make them take this pain, please, just let me die and take it all away from them —  _

“Zarc, Zarc, I’m here, please, it’s all right —”

He’s losing him again.  He’s forgetting. He’s dragged back down into the darkness, to the emptiness of his body, to the hollow that is what remains of his torn up soul.  But he can’t — he can’t forget. He has to remember...at least...this...

For only a breath, Zarc remembers: he remembers living.  He remembers dying. He remembers Ray. He remembers loving her.  Remembers loving the humans they made together. Remembers the pain and fear that consumed him.

He remembers the relief when Ray slid her blade into his heart, and he thought, perhaps, he might find what it meant to sleep.

But he can’t sleep.  He will not. Even as the darkness claims him once again, as he drifts down into the abyss, he will not sleep.  He will not forget.

_ Find me _ , he screams into the darkness, to the souls that hold the pieces of him.   _ Find me. _

_ I am destruction. _

_ But please, universe, just once —  _

_ Let me create. _

_ Let me create a future for them. _

_ Let me create peace for them.  For all of us. _

_ Find me. _

_ Find me. _

_ Find me. _

_ Find me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends yet another installment in The Lost Chapters of Arca. I still have more planned, but I haven't decided when I'm going to start posting the next mini-multichapters for this one. Thank you to all who are still following this series! It really means a lot <3 Until next time then, have an excellent day!


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